


Take a Risk

by jeleania



Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: BAMF Prompto Argentum, Gen, Held at Gunpoint, Ignis is there too but he doesn't have a PoV, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Lucis Caelums are dragons, Pick who dies, Whumptober 2020, but it is brought up, collars and restraints, past stalking, the non-con didn't happen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:53:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26617015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeleania/pseuds/jeleania
Summary: Prompto got back to the rest stop in time to see Gladiolus thrown into a van, Ignis dragged into another, and Noctis limp over a mook's shoulder.When the vans drove away, he followed.He had to save his friends.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum
Series: Whumptober 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1936261
Comments: 2
Kudos: 62





	Take a Risk

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt No 2.  
> “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped
> 
> beta-read by Jayetta

* * *

Noctis tried to keep his footing as he was led down yet another hallway. The metal shackles around his ankles with their short chain made it difficult; his steps short and staggering. His arms handcuffed behind his back impaired his balance even further. His hip was growing increasingly angry at this awkward stride.

The collar around his throat, threatening to cinch tight if he fell again, was strong incentive to stay upright.

He took a few seconds to glare at the woman holding onto his leash. 

She smirked and walked a bit faster, making the leash taut between them. 

His gaze dropped back to the ground. She clearly took it as a sign of submission, scoffing softly and slowing so there was some meager slack. Pride made him want to snarl but his sense of preservation won out. Better to wait, to bide his time, to yield a little so he could wreak havoc later. Besides, he had to watch for more debris littering the abandoned building. It was hard enough to breathe with this damn collar, the snug leather tricking his brain. Tripping over a stray rock just wasn’t worth the loss of dignity or air.

He was so busy looking out for hazards to not stumble over that he almost didn’t notice them reaching their destination. 

Almost - the muffled sound of two familiar voices had him pulling his eyes from the floor.

Gladiolus and Ignis were on their knees on the dirty concrete. Specs’s glasses were askew and a dark bruise was forming under his left eye. Gladio had blood streaking down his chin from a battered nose and scrapes on his right cheek. Both were generally disheveled with clothing askew and hair tangled, clearly having been manhandled as much as he had. Gags had been stuffed into their mouths, wads of cloth with a strip wrapping around to tie at the back of their heads. No serious rips in their clothes he could see though Ignis’s polo had lost a button and Gladio’s slacks had a hole in the knee. Thankfully for his blood pressure there didn’t seem to be any worrisome growing dark spots from heavy bleeds. From the position of arms and legs, he suspected they were shackled as he was.

Both wore the same choke collar as he did around their throats.

Something deep in Noctis snarled in possessive fury. 

No one else had the right to lay a claim upon them. He already had - they belonged to Him. The moment they gave him their Vows, had accepted weapon and magic from his hands, they were His. He might have to share with their spouses one day, but the bond of magic and fealty always came first.

How dare these worthless peons think they could usurp his claim...

A tug of the leash jarred him from his haze of justified rage. The collar tightened a fraction, making Noctis cough in a vain attempt to open his airway. He glowered at the female holding the leash, baring his fangs in a low snarl.

She flinched back, the grip on the leash loosening fractionally, _fear-unease_ fluttering with her pulse. The gunman at Noctis’s left shifted uneasily but didn’t lower his aim at the Lucis Caelum’s head.

Noctis turned his gaze back to his Sword Sworn. Absently, he noticed that in his distracted state, he had unfurled his magic. Now it filled the room, unseen but the pressure of his displeasure felt even by those with no vows. The ten men and women standing guard around them were shifting in unease, faces pale. The hands holding guns to the heads of himself and his Sword Sworn trembled but not enough for him to risk lashing out. All of them gave off similar _fear-unease-doubt_ as the woman standing unhappy by his side. At least she didn’t reek of satisfaction and lust anymore.

All these emotions he could feel when he let his magic roam free was part of the reason why Noctis didn’t do this. It was distracting and annoying and invasive. He felt he was invading their privacy. The fact that his magic could give away his own emotional state was another downside. At least it took the long exposure of a Bond, the senses of an Amicitia, magic of their own, or sheer luck of the genetic draw to have an affinity for understanding it. 

He was too angry to pull his magic back in. Besides, the intimidation factor may work in his favor.

Gladio and Specs were anchors of anger and determination. The warmth of _concern-outrage-resolve_ from each of his friends gave Noctis the mental strength to wrestle his draconic instincts under control. His friends weren’t seriously hurt, were conscious, were relying on him as much as he was on them. The collars and restraints seriously pissed him off but he had to focus past that. They had to find a way out of this mess, and Noctis needed to keep his temper to do it. 

_Relief-anxiety-calculation_ bubbled from an unexpected direction.

Noctis made a show of looking all around the room from bottom to top and back down. It was large, longer than it was wide, and empty save them and debris. The floor was littered with broken plywood and scraps of metal pipes. The walls were a mess of holes, some big enough for a large toddler to climb through. The ceiling above was in pieces, most of the large thin tiles had fallen and were making more of a mess on the floor. Much of the electrical wires and metal framework and ductwork of the central heating system usually hidden by the ceiling tiles was visible through the deep shadows of cheap fluorescent lights dangling from their wires.

He could just see a vent in the ducts. It was just about in the center between himself and his Shield and Hand. 

A tiny tuft of yellow hair peeked out where the vent grate was missing.

Casually dropping his gaze back to their captors, Noctis idly wondered what they were all waiting for.

* * *

Prompto sagged slightly in relief. 

At least he knew where all three of his friends were now.

He had gotten distracted that morning. There had been a cat, splotches of orange and white with darker orange-red stripes on its tail. It had trotted past the camper of the little pitstop where they had overnighted. He had grabbed his camera and scampered after it, hoping for at least one decent photo. 

Noct has been so down lately. Well, more melancholy than usual. He had quietly asked Iggy last night only to learn it was a few days until King Regis’s birthday. 

The late King Regis. The dead king. The dead father of his best friend.

Noctis and Prompto had exchanged so many photos and videos of cats over the years. It was a surefire way to lighten his best friend’s spirits when the stresses of royal duties had dragged him down. The heavy wave of grief was so much greater than the stresses of just a few months ago when life was so much simpler. Maybe a picture of this cat would coax a smile out of the grieving son.

Prompto knew it wasn’t much but he could try.

He had gotten some shots only for the blonde and the cat to both startle at a shout. While the feline darted deeper into the bushes, Prompto had hustled back to the scrap of civilization they has stayed at overnight. It was a parking lot and a camper with a building that might have been a corner store once upon a time. The broken remains of the corner store looked like it had been smashed by giants, the scars of their oversized swords visible in the wreckage and broken pavement. It wasn’t much but it served as a campsite for the desperate with a single high powered light still functioning next to the camper. The mattress in the camper was better for Noct’s back than another night on a rocky Haven.

Prompto peeked around the ruin of the shop just in time to see Gladio’s limp form tossed bodily into a dark van.

Iggy’s boots disappearing into a second van as someone dragged him further into another vehicle.

Two men stepped into view past the camper. Noctis hung too still over the shoulder of one.

Heart in his throat, Prompto had summoned a pistol from the armory. He didn’t use it, not yet, not with the odds so stacked against him. But the feel of it in his hands, the fact he could summon it at all, was a reassurance. 

His friends were being kidnapped but at least Noctis was still alive.

When the vans drove away, Prompto whistled for his chocobo and followed.

He had tailed them to Old Lestallum. One of the abandoned warehouses on the settlement outskirts was the destination. Both vans drove inside, the loading bay doors pulled shut behind them by waiting mooks. 

Leaving Hetty to forage, Prompto had frowned at the large heavy doors. He was probably strong enough to open one, but it would be noisy. Noisy would draw attention. Attention meant higher chances of being cornered and captured. He couldn’t get caught too, he couldn’t save his friends if he became another prisoner. 

The duct of the heating and cooling unit sticking out of the wall near the doors looked big enough for him to fit.

It had been an exercise in control to crawl through those ducts. The walls had felt like they were closing in, so much smaller than the cave tunnels they had ventured through. His claustrophobia had his heart pounding and hands trembling and body too hot. His vision wavered at the edges, his breathing stuttered or was too fast, his limbs didn’t want to hold his weight. When he had inevitably gotten lost in the mess of metal tubes, the terror tried to swallow him whole. 

The steadfast thrum of the Bond with his best friend, the reminder that he wasn’t really alone, the knowledge that his friends needed him - these made him clamp down on his phobia and keep moving.

Finally he was able to find Gladio and Iggy. Had watched from above as they were restrained with metal chains and too small manacles. Had seen them stir from being knocked out and heard threats against their captors before both were brutally gagged. The whole time, four mooks had been holding them at gunpoint, two for each Retinue member. Prompto was a damn good shot but he calculated the risks between the gun-mooks and the rest of the enemies.

Each calculation had one of his friends dying. So he waited. There would be a better opportunity, there had to be.

When the mooks had shuffled the pair out of the room and into the maze of hallways, Prompto had crawled after them. His anxiety spiked each time he lost sight of them, having to scramble navigating the duct system. He couldn’t tell if his hands were shaking from suppressed panic or heady relief when he finally caught up with them in a large room. The tension in his shoulders eased as Noct was led into the room. His best friend was bloodied and glaring but his head was held high and his eyes held a carefully contained fury.

Now here they were, all three of his friends below him. Surrounded by mooks but relatively alright. He just had to -

His breath caught at an odd feeling in his chest. No, not his chest but that was the closest approximation of a source. A little tug, like someone trying to get his attention. Narrowing his eyes, Prompto breathed slow and deep. Nothing hurt, no twinges from strained muscles or fractured bones. No difficulty moving air through his lungs. His heart wasn’t doing anything weird aside from the fast pace of anxiety. So what had - 

Another tug, a bit stronger, insistent. It came with something almost like a vibration, like a taut string inside him had been plucked. It hummed with _recognition-reassurance-relyingonyou_ like music he couldn’t quite hear but knew the sounds from long familiarity. For some odd reason, it reminded him of an arm tossed over his shoulder in greeting, a nudge of shoulders on the couch and blue eyes catching his with a steady gaze full of trust and faith. 

Prompto’s eyes widened. It was Noctis. The tug was Noctis.

Peeking out of the vent opening again, he looked down at his friends. The raven-haired prince was still glowering at the mooks, a low growl from his collared throat the only sound in the room. But even as he watched them, Prompto felt another little tug and a not-hug of _reassurance-seeyou-knowyou-trustyou_ emotion that was not his. 

Mentally, Prompto shrugged. He was no expert at magic, he just went along with the magic storage space and summoning weapons with a thought and the not-chill of Noctis’s magic settled comfortably along his bones. He thought hard of hugging back and the warm feeling he got over being friends and determination to get them out of this mess. 

_Amusement-trust_ curled around him, the energy bristling _wariness-beready_ like a startled cat. The sound of a door opening came a few seconds later. Footsteps seemed oddly loud in the quiet space, the mooks already quiet and Noctis’s growl going near subvocal.

The newcomer strode confidently into the room.

He was dressed nicer than the other mooks, a casual blazer in grey over slacks a shade lighter. His fancy shoes clacked on the concrete floor. The way the other mooks looked to him, waiting for instruction, made it clear he was in charge. Even if they hadn’t there was a sense of control, power and smugness as he walked past into the middle of the waiting group.

The bald spot Prompto could see on the top of the man’s head detracted slightly from the menacing aura.

Head Mook bowed in a way even Prompto with only a crash course in court etiquette could tell was mocking and simpered, “Your Majesty, so glad you could meet with me.”

Prompto could hear the single raised eyebrow as his best friend slowly drawled, “Ignis, I thought we had canceled this meeting. We agreed we had more important matters to attend to.”

A snarl of insulted anger contorted the man’s face as he swept up from his bow. Then the smug expression was back. Head Mook swept open his arms like a showman. “Yet you made the time. How magnanimous of you.”

“With the greeting party you had for us, we could hardly refuse.” Noctis tossed back. “Be quick, we have other plans for today.”

“As you wish.” Another condescending bow. Head Mook spun on one heel until he stood between Advisor and Shield. When turned back to face the king, he wore a pompous smirk that even Prompto wanted to punch. “You see, your Majesty, I am Petrel Asami of House Dolan. My great-grandmother gained power for our family, and each generation since has seen our prestige grow. Only you had to come along. You who insulted our family by snubbing my sister’s courtship after taking advantage of her kindness and willingness to do anything to please you. We were demoted in the court because of your lies. She was destroyed by your games.”

Prompto didn’t need the flutter of _confusion-incredulity-disbelief_ to know Noctis had no clue what Head Mook was raving about.

Noctis tilted his head and looked toward the bespectacled one of their group. 

Ignis was squinting at Head Mook in bafflement. Suddenly his eyes went wide in realization.

Then Ignis rolled his eyes in annoyed exasperation before fixing their King with a stare.

Either the Advisor-King bond was telepathic instead of the odd empathy thing happening with Prompto or Ignis was just that skilled at getting a point across but Noctis suddenly uttered, “Oh, you’re Aurianne’s brother.”

Head Mook tossed his head. “Good, you remember. She put so much time and effort into her gifts for you. The research for your meetings. The information on your detractors in court. The rare incense she bought for you.”

 _Disgust-annoyance_ vibrated like disgruntled thunder. “The stalking of my schedule to the point of bribing and theft. The undermining of the work I was doing with those so-called detractors. The - the display she made of herself on my bed with that aphrodisiac laced stench when I already had a really shitty day.” Noctis rolled his shoulders, took a calmer tone as he proclaimed, “She ruined herself with her actions and decisions.”

Finger pointing accusingly, Head Mook argued, “Because you brushed off her overtures, she had to go to greater lengths to prove herself to you!”

Noctis sounded distinctly unimpressed. “I turned her away a dozen different times. I followed the proper protocols of courtship that she cast aside. I am not at fault that she chose to go past what was seemly.”

“She was cast out of Insomnia,” spat Head Mook.

“Would you prefer her beheaded instead?” Noctis shot back. “That is the traditional punishment for her trespasses.”

Head Mook reared back, took a lungful of air, then slowly straightened his spine. A veneer of indifference smothered the insulted outrage. He smoothed a hand over his hair, tugged into place his blazer. 

And smiled.

Prompto didn’t like that smile.

From the _wary-curious-unease_ that whispered in the back of his head, Noctis didn’t either.

With a flick of his hand, Head Mook diverted, “Enough of the past. Today is what matters. Today and tomorrow.” He offered a hand toward Noctis. “We can help each other, your Majesty. I can get you support from the other nobility. You reinstate my family’s place in your court. You restore our prestige, I restore your throne.”

“I think the Emperor would have something to say about that.”

“Men such as he can be worked around.” Head Mook hitched a shoulder dismissively. “Will you accept my generous offer?”

“At what cost?”

“Well, I can’t leave you with all of your supporters.” Head Mook waved at the Retinue members pinned at his sides. “What place would I have if they are at your side?”

The idiot was foolish enough to put his hands on their heads like a man with his dogs.

The low inhuman snarl that filled the room and the surge of _wrath-insult-mine_ that wrapped like a comfortable blanket over Prompto’s shoulders made the fool snatch his hands back with a flash of fear on his face.

Head Mook cleared his throat as his lackeys shuffled in apprehension. 

He was careful not to touch as he gestured again. “I will allow you to choose one of your men to keep. Your Advisor or your Shield. Your nit-picking intelligence or your dumb brute strength. Your babysitter or your attack dog. Your choice, your Majesty. Pick who dies.”

* * *

Gladiolus seriously wanted to maim this smarmy guy.

He remembered House Dolan and the shitstorm they caused.

House Dolan had been minor nobility that had tried to gain more power in King Regis’s court. They had made little progress - the father of this little pissant had fumbled too many deals and wronged too many people. The heir had been this boy’s older sister before Petrel took over the family.

The older sister who had harassed, stalked and attempted to rape his prince.

She hadn’t gotten that far, thank the astrals. She hadn’t even been allowed to touch him that night. Noctis had walked into his bedroom, Gladiolus and Ignis on his heels, to find the bitch sprawled naked across his sheets. The Prince had taken one look, spun on his heel, and stalked away. The Shield had called in the guards while the Advisor had followed their charge - both had been seething because Noctis had been in serious pain that night and because of Heir Dolan’s games he couldn’t rest in the safety of his own quarters. When Gladiolus and Cor had interrogated her, she had not been shy in declaring her intent. The aphrodisiac mixed into the incense and the drugged wine sitting by the bed would have stolen Noctis’s ability to consent. If they had deflowered each other that night, then old laws would have come into play that, with the right manipulations, could have trapped Noctis with that bitch.

Noctis had been only sixteen.

She had been almost a decade older.

Listening to the current Head of House Dolan trade verbal barbs with his King, Gladiolus wished that the whole family had been cast out. Even better if they had executed all of them. They could have avoided this mess; the guns pointed at them, the Hand and Shield of the King bound helpless, the Shadow missing, and their King-

Their King collared and chained and bloodied. 

Gladiolus burned. 

It was outrage. It was shame. It was fear.

“Pick who dies.”

 _Shock-unease-denial-howdarehe_ shuddered down the Shield’s spine. It echoed how he already felt. Noctis had kept his face blank and calm, but the magic in the air and the bonds connecting them told Gladiolus the truth. Hopefully none of the scum standing around them could understand what generations of Amicitia had learned to interpret - the murmurs of emotion and fragments of thought carried by magic.

How could someone make this kind of choice?

Both of them were important to Noctis. Both had been part of their King’s life for at least a decade. Both protected and guided and supported their charge. 

Amber eyes glanced sideways. Iggy’s green gaze caught his.

It would probably be him.

Gladiolus knew he wasn’t as close to Noctis as Clarus had been with Regis. He was rough, always pushing Noctis for more - more training, more words, more everything. He sometimes wondered if he drove his King too hard. It was difficult to tell when Noctis always kept his magic locked in close, blocking off a means of communication even as he distracted with words and action. How could he bond with Noctis when the Lucis Caelum hid his very soul away from the person he should trust most?

Maybe that was the issue - maybe Noctis didn’t trust Gladiolus.

Besides, Ignis had been there since Noctis was four. He had been kind and nurturing and only stern when needed. When Gladiolus was hard, he was gentle. Where Gladiolus had doubted and misunderstood, Ignis had held faith and supported Noctis every step of the way. During those months of physical therapy, Noctis relearning how to walk, Ignis at his elbow with a bracing hand or encouraging words, Gladiolus avoiding and cursing that he would be stuck with a cripple of a King.

He was so proud of how Noctis had proven Gladiolus and so many doubtful people wrong.

A Shield was more easily replaced than the mix of Advisor and Hand that Ignis had crafted himself to be.

At least Prompto wasn’t here. If losing Shield or Hand would gut Noctis, then losing his Shadow would damn near kill him. Plus the bright little sunshine that was Blondie didn’t need to witness this mess.

“You.”

The Dolan brat helpfully asked what Gladiolus was thinking. “What?”

Power swelled suddenly, filling the room and seeming to steal all the air. He heard more than one captor choke, glanced to see them frozen in terror. Even with the magic of the bond humming in his soul, giving some protection from the energy smothering everyone in the room, Gladiolus found it hard to breathe, harder to move. 

Dragons were predators even if they were omnivores. The same hindbrain instinct that made a person go still under a coeurl’s stare or flee before a daemon would be gibbering in mindless panic before a Dragon. And the line of Lucis Caelum had always been Dragons trapped in human form.

Gladiolus had never been confronted with Noctis in this level of Draconic Fury. His father had described it a few times in an attempt to prepare the young Shield.

No words could have prepared him for this.

“You said pick who dies.” Noctis stated, voice cutting through the static in Gladiolus' head. “You do.”

What the hell did that mean? How was Noctis going to pull this off? What even -

Gunshots rang out, sharp, fast and echoing. 

Gladiolus flinched despite himself. Blinked to see the man once holding a gun to Noctis’s head limp on the ground. The woman who had been holding a damn leash like his King was a mere pet joined him seconds later. More bodies were falling in the corner of the Shield’s eye. Confused, his head whipped around as he looked for the source. 

If he wasn’t gagged, then he probably would be gaping in shock.

Prompto was falling from the ceiling headfirst. His face was a scowl of grim concentration. He was dual wielding his pistols, firing bullet after bullet. Each shot had another scumbag dropping to the floor, lives cut short with a hole through their skulls. At the last second, he did a sideways flip and landed in a crouch on the floor. 

His last bullet got the Dolan brat in the throat.

Pistols vanishing back into the armory with a flash of blue crystalline light, Prompto whirled around. He lunged to their King who was kneeling with his head almost touching the ground. Hands scrabbled at the black-haired man’s neck. Then a wheezing gasp cut through the air followed by hoarse coughing.

The collar.

The damn choke collar.

Gladiolus glanced at the dead woman. The leash was still clenched in her hand. When her body fell, the literal dead weight must have yanked the collar tight. 

_Pride-relief-satisfaction_ was a bracing breeze against his senses. The raspy “Great job, Prom” reminded the Shield of the here and now. He watched Noctis sit up - his face was a bit red but his breathing was easier with that accursed collar gone.

“I’m so glad that worked,” Blondie’s voice was shaky even as his hands were steady on their King’s shoulders. Turning around, Prompto moved back to the Dolan brat to pat down his pockets, then moved to the next body to do the same. Purple-blue eyes glanced almost shyly at Gladiolus before darting away. “Sorry I couldn’t get you guys free sooner.”

“Quite alright,” Ignis reassured. “You did superbly. Also, I think the one with the copper hair has the keys.”

 _Concern-curiosity_ butted like a cat against Gladiolus. He jerked his eyes from following the gunner of their group to their King. Noctis was watching him with a worried little frown.

Gladiolus quirked his lips in a wry smile as he focused on reassurance and apology.

Blue eyes blinked, widened, then darted away to the ground. _Shame-apology-embarrassment_ fluttered over his skin. Then the room suddenly felt emptier and his body colder and he could barely sense his King anymore.

Something in Gladiolus keened at the loss. 

The restraints being removed, the trek out of the warehouse, the ride on their whistle-summoned chocobos to the Regalia. It all was a blur to the Shield. He couldn’t shake out of the desolate hollow feeling of not being able to feel Noctis’s magic anymore. The quiet hum of the Bond wasn’t enough - it was like having to return to a cold prison cell with one little lightbulb after a day spent in the warm bright sunlight.

He would get used to it again. It was all he had known for most of his life. 

As he sat back in the familiar seats of the Regalia, Gladiolus glanced sidelong at his King. Noctis was staring into the distance, absently rubbing his left wrist. Curatives had lightened the bruises from everyone’s shackles but the phantom feeling remained. At least the bruises from the choke collar were healing greens rather than the ugly purples of an hour ago. 

With a sigh, the Shield relaxed into the rumble of the engine underneath them as Iggy drove them somewhere. Maybe one day Noctis would trust him enough to relax his tight hold on his magic. Until then, Gladiolus would wait and support him as best as he could guess how and hope it was enough.

* * *


End file.
